No artifice seal locked the watchtower. We hurried up its winding stone steps; narrow windows gave us alternating glimpses of the wind-lashed Mews courtyard and the Serene City—a gathering of a thousand warm lights twinkling like stars, floating above the black waters of the lagoon. Fear crushed my chest at the sight; it was so fragile, and so precious. Jerith could blow out all those lights like festival candles, and drown the warmth and beauty in choking dark water. My invulnerable mother, and Ciardha, and the servants who’d helped raise me—my family, my home. No miracle of the Graces or of their own clever devising could save them from the unanswerable power of the ocean, if it came pouring in to conquer the floating city at last. We were Raverra’s only hope.
I wished I felt remotely up to the task. I had my own set of skills, but none of them seemed useful in subduing storm warlocks.
The stairs wound their way to a landing, ending in a stout wooden door. After a glance to make certain we were ready, Marcello threw it open, and we burst into a round guardroom, ringed with slit windows and graced with a handful of chairs and a square table. Steep wooden steps climbed to a trapdoor in the ceiling on the far side of the room.
Between us and the steps stood one man in a Falconer’s uniform, tall and broad, the moonlight gleaming off his bare brown scalp and the rock-hard curves of muscular forearms crossed on his chest.
Balos.
Chapter Fifteen
Captain,” Balos greeted Marcello, in his deep, rumbling voice. “I’m sorry, but you know how this has to be.”
Marcello nodded and drew his rapier. He turned with slow grace to face Balos left-handed, presenting only the side of his body. With his right arm bound up in its sling, he made a brave, hopeless figure, perfectly poised for a fight he stood no chance of winning. My throat tightened, and I wanted to throw myself between them, to stop either of them from getting hurt.
“Please wait outside, Istrella,” he said.
Istrella nodded, paling, and withdrew onto the landing. But she didn’t quite close the door, peering through the crack with wide eyes to see what would happen to her brother.
“Are you ready?” Balos asked.
Before Marcello could answer, Terika lunged forward, hurling a tiny glass bottle at Balos with all her might.
He barely glanced away from Marcello. His hand darted out, and the vial smacked into his palm. He held it up, intact, gleaming in the moonlight.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” he said, with gentle regret. And he threw it back at Terika.
I dove away, holding my breath; glass shattered behind me, and there came a startled yelp and a rustling thud. I scrambled to the far wall and pressed my back against the cool stone before risking a tentative sip of air; it came back clear of peppermint, and I turned, pulse racing painfully, terrified of what I might see.
Terika lay sprawled on the floor, shattered glass glittering like diamonds around her. Zaira stood tense and ready by the opposite wall, eyes fixed on Balos, hands curled into fists; Marcello poised on his toes, panting, as if he’d lunged in and out to try to take advantage of Balos’s distraction. But Balos stood unharmed, balanced and ready, his grave eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
“The colonel couldn’t stop us, either,” Balos said, with careful emphasis. “She took the armory, but we sealed her and the others in there, so you have no help coming.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Marcello said quietly. “I’ll try to get her free after this. And I promise we’ll do everything in our power not to hurt Jerith.”
Balos nodded. “If you hurt him, Captain, I’ll break every bone you’ve got left.” He said it with perfect calm, as if he were discussing the weather. I didn’t know how he managed it; every piece of me, from my hair to my toenails, seemed to scream with the urgency to get up those stairs and stop Jerith before he unleashed disaster. The wind outside was howling with enough force to make the tower shudder; we couldn’t have much time left.
I knew one way we might get past him.
“Eyes!” I called, and flipped open my flare locket.
My closed lids blazed red. I edged forward, ready to break for the stairs, and peeked the second the light dimmed enough.
Marcello lunged toward Balos, to attack him or slip past him while he couldn’t see. But Balos stepped to one side, catching Marcello’s arm and twisting to disarm him of his rapier. The blade clattered across the stone.
Marcello leaped back, cursing and shaking out his arm; Balos stood squinting in the fading brilliance, still firmly between us and the stairs. He had closed his eyes against the blast of light, too.
“You need another trick, Lady Amalia,” he said. “You’re getting predictable.”
“How about this, then?” I threw the last of Istrella’s rings at him; the runes sparked in the air as it sailed toward his head.
But he leaned to the side, and it missed, striking the wall behind him. A seal of golden light flashed uselessly into life on the stones; the ring chimed as it fell to the ground and rolled away.
“Better,” Balos acknowledged. “But you need to practice your aim, and give less warning.”
Hells. We weren’t running out of options—just nonlethal ones. Balos must know it, but he remained serene as ever as Marcello cursed and drew his pistol.
“Don’t make me set you on fire, Balos,” Zaira rasped. I caught her eyes, asking a silent question. She shook her head minutely, her face pinched and haunted.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the option to relent,” Balos said. “Do what you need to, my friends. Just don’t hurt Jerith.”
My gut twisted. “Exsolvo,” I whispered.
“No,” Zaira snapped, fury in her voice. “Hells, no.”
Balos angled to face her. “I don’t want Raverra destroyed, Zaira.”
Zaira let out a desperate laugh. “If I burn you, your husband will kill me.”
Balos frowned, as if considering this. “He might, but you still need to stop me.”
While his attention was on Zaira, Marcello hurled himself at Balos.
He moved quicker than I’d ever seen him, cracking the hilt of his pistol up into Balos’s chin. As Balos’s head rocked back, Marcello kicked a foot around his leg and swept it out from under him. He crashed into the floor hard enough to rattle the furniture.
Marcello fell on him with both knees, and Zaira and I ran in as well. I threw myself on one of Balos’s arms in a billowing of silk skirts, focusing on pinning him down. He heaved beneath the three of us, strong enough that for a moment I thought he would break free; Zaira cursed as his knee connected with her head, but she held on. We managed to wrestle him under control long enough for Istrella to run in, grab the last vial of potion from Terika’s bag, and drip a single drop onto Balos’s face. He went still at last, and we all scurried out of reach before the scent of peppermint could reach us, too.
Marcello’s breath came raggedly, and he slumped against the wall, pale as paper. Istrella awkwardly patted his good shoulder, biting her lip.
“We’re going to need to carry you home in pieces in an envelope after this,” Zaira said, shaking her head in awe. “Nicely done. I’ve never seen a man your size move so fast.”
Marcello nodded weakly, but couldn’t seem to speak at first. After a moment, he managed between gasps, “Couldn’t let you have to use your fire.”
“Last thing I want is to burn one of the few decent men in the Empire,” Zaira agreed gruffly. “Even if he knocked out Terika.” Her eyes slid to Terika, then, and she took a step toward her before checking herself, shaking her head. Even from here, I could faintly catch the trace of peppermint in the air.
Zaira held out her hand to Istrella instead, taking Terika’s last vial of potion. “Come on. We don’t have time to pat ourselves on the back. Let’s go keep Jerith from doing something he’ll really regret in the morning.”
Marcello pulled himself up, still leaning against the wall, and went to retrieve his rapier, favoring his side. Just watc
hing him move hurt.
“Wait,” I said. “Jerith can strike us with lightning faster than I can blink. If we go charging up there looking like we’re going to attack him, he’ll have no choice but to do so. We need to give him an excuse not to kill us.”
Zaira frowned. “You’re right.” Her eyes drifted to Terika, where she lay sprawled on the floor. “Amalia, you go first. Tell him we’re here to negotiate. He’ll believe it from you, because you’re useless in combat and talk too much.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly.
“I’ll come next, to talk to him warlock-to-warlock.” She pointed to Marcello. “You stay down here with Istrella.”
“I can’t let you go face him by yourselves,” he objected.
“You wait and see what happens. If we fail, you can shoot him. You’re our reserve.”
Marcello looked as if he wanted to argue. Istrella laid a finger on his lips. “If you go, I’m going,” she said sternly. “You wouldn’t want me to stay down here undefended, right?”
He stared at her helplessly. I had to admire her; my mother would have applauded the ruthless manipulation of that move.
Marcello sighed, giving in. “It makes sense. Jerith will never believe I’m not there to take him down.”
“He’d probably kill you the moment he saw you,” Zaira agreed. “All right, Amalia, let’s go face down the man with the lightning before he washes Raverra away like dog crap off the palace steps.”
The wind hit me like a slammed door as I climbed up onto the roof. It seized my hair and whipped it to the side, and I clung to the stone floor for a moment, halfway out of the trapdoor, not certain I dared stand up and take its full force when I was a hundred feet off the ground. A great moaning rose up all around the castle, and the mottled sky hung so low and roiling overhead that it seemed as if it might crush us.
Jerith stood at the exact center of the tower top, his hands spread palm up before him, tiny purple sparks crackling at his fingertips. The silver rings of his mage mark blazed in his eyes, and a purple-white gleam flared within them. The wind played in his hair and tugged at his jacket like a mischievous lover.
“Took you long enough,” he greeted us.
Zaira and I climbed up onto the roof to face him. We staggered as the wind hit us; I had to seize Zaira’s arm to keep her from getting blown to the parapet. The heavy skirts of the gown I’d worn to the Assembly dragged at me, caught in the wind, and I shivered in the biting cold.
Zaira steadied herself, then laughed harshly. “How was I to know you’d start the party without me?”
“Sorry about that. Something unexpected came up, and I couldn’t wait for you.”
I’d heard them both clearly, as though the wind that raged around us parted for their words. Even more than the gathering clouds above us or the lightning waiting in Jerith’s fingers, this kindled awe in my heart—that he could stir the clouds like a kettle with one hand while mincing the wind fine enough to hear us with the other. And even clothed in all the power and majesty of the storm, he was still himself; the times I’d seen Zaira unleash on this scale, she’d become a creature of flame, divine and humorless, seeing with the fire’s eyes and speaking with its tongue.
Zaira was clearly thinking the same thing. She shook her head. “Your control is too damned good. How do you do it? I’d be lost to the fire by now.”
“If we both live through this, I’ll teach you.” Jerith rotated one hand palm-out and lifted a warning finger. “I know you’re likely here to stop me. If I think you have any chance of actually doing so—if I see one spark of balefire, or a weapon, or if you reach for your flare locket or make any kind of sudden motion—I have no choice but to strike you dead where you stand. So please, by all means, don’t let me see you make any threatening moves.”
I hadn’t missed the particulars of his wording. I licked my dry lips, suddenly afraid even to pull back the hair that stung my face. If I staggered the wrong way as the wind shoved at me, or made some gesture Jerith interpreted the wrong way, I would be dead before I knew what happened. The Serene City glittered in the night, full of glowing life across the water; the Mews below lay hushed beneath the cry of the wind, as if it were watching us.
“I know you don’t want to do this, Jerith,” I began.
“You’re stalling,” he said. “What are you stalling for?”
To keep him focused on me. To give Zaira a chance to act. “Surely you don’t think I’m going to tell you.” I glanced deliberately toward the trapdoor we’d emerged from, as if I might be hoping for reinforcements from below. “What about you? Do you pretend you’re not stalling as well?”
“Me?” He let out a bark of a laugh. “I’m gathering my storm, and waiting for the tide to rise a bit more. I’ve thought this through, you see.” His gaze shifted to Zaira, who stood quite still, braced against the storm. “Don’t tell me you haven’t done it, too—thought about how you would destroy Raverra, if you ever took it into your head to do so.”
Zaira’s tangled curls danced in the wind like flames, partially obscuring her face. “Of course I have. You can’t hold the Hell of Disaster inside you and not think about what would happen if you unleashed it.”
“Sometimes it’s a nightmare,” Jerith said softly. “Sometimes it’s a fantasy. There are days when you can’t help but want to burn it all down.”
Zaira nodded, her eyes dark, wide pools. “That’s how it always begins,” she whispered.
I had to get his attention back to me. “Jerith. What does Ruven want? If we accede to his demands, will he spare the city?”
“Damned if I know.” Jerith spread his arms wide; the clouds above him began a slow, ponderous churn. “I have one instruction: destroy Raverra. He hasn’t done me the courtesy of showing up in person so I can question him further.” The sparks on his fingers leaped in agitation, as if they yearned to find Ruven and ask certain unanswerable questions of their own.
“Isn’t there any way to stop this?” I pleaded.
“I only know one way,” Jerith said grimly. “Now if you don’t have anything more substantive to say, I have to ask you to let me concentrate. I don’t have much excuse for holding off any longer from my task.”
Jerith reached toward the clouds. The glow in his eyes grew until they seemed to be pools of liquid lightning. The tower shuddered in the wind, and my claw necklace rattled on my chest. I needed to distract him somehow, and quickly.
“Balos is safe,” I blurted. “We only knocked him out. We didn’t hurt him.”
Jerith’s shoulders sagged, and for a second, his eyes closed in relief.
In that instant, Zaira leaped forward and splashed a spray of sleep potion into his face.
Jerith reeled, his eyes glazing. He threw up his hands, and my breath froze, certain lightning would rip through us both before my heart could beat again.
But the sparks on his fingers flickered out, and he collapsed like an empty sail.
The wind died immediately; I staggered, leaning into a gale that was no longer there. The silence fell around us so suddenly that I worried for half a second that I had gone deaf.
Zaira fell to her knees beside Jerith, trembling all over. “Sweet Grace of Mercy,” she gasped, “I thought I was going to die.”
I went to help her up, and somehow, for a brief moment, we were hugging each other on our knees on the cold stone of the tower top, salt-damp hair in our faces. Then Zaira got to her feet by herself, shaking her arms out as if she could cast off the same jittering energy that still surged through my veins.
“Right,” she said. “We’re not done yet. That bought us an hour. Let’s go take back the Mews.”
The four of us wrangled Jerith’s limp, unconscious body down the steep stairs as best we could. With Marcello down to one arm, Zaira and I had to do most of the lifting, putting him down every few feet and taking deep breaths of clean, peppermint-free air before hoisting him again. I could feel precious minutes sliding away, but we didn’t dare le
ave him outside the wards.
After we’d laid Jerith next to Balos in as comfortable a position as we could, Zaira tore down a curtain from one of the windows to fold it into a pillow and slip it tenderly under Terika’s head. She stared for a moment at her face; a worried divot punctuated the alchemist’s brows even in sleep, though her chest rose and fell with gentle regularity.
“I don’t like leaving her here,” Zaira muttered.
“No one will hurt her,” I assured her. “Ruven wants the Falcons alive. The worst that will happen is they’ll give her his potion.”
“She hated being under that stingroach’s control. She still has nightmares about it.” Zaira drew in a breath, bent to squeeze Terika’s hand, and then stood, determination in her dark eyes. “But we can’t exactly drag her along with us. So we’ll just have to do this as quickly as possible. Come on.”
We’d barely started down the spiral stairs when a great clatter and commotion came from below, as if a large group of people were thundering up the tower with no semblance of caution. We froze in the shadowed stairwell; orange gleams of ward light reflected from Zaira’s eyes as she flicked me an alarmed glance.
But Marcello broke into a broad smile. “That’s Colonel Vasante,” he said. “She’s broken free of the armory!”
Sure enough, it was Colonel Vasante who rounded the curving stairs at the head of some twenty grim-faced Falcons, Falconers, and soldiers. Her eyes went flat and ready when she saw us; one Falcon behind her exclaimed, “Hells take us, it’s Zaira!”
“Wait!” Marcello frantically held up his good hand as they all reached for weapons. “We’re not controlled! We weren’t even in the Mews during the toast, remember?”
There came a tense pause. My pulse pounded in the silence as Colonel Vasante swept her assessing gaze over the four of us. Istrella, oblivious to the danger that prickled in the air, gave her a cheery wave.
The colonel’s shoulders sagged. “Fantastic,” she said sharply. “I thought our situation couldn’t get any worse, but now on top of everything else, I have to play bodyguard to the Cornaro heir.”
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